It's Elementary, Sherlock
by HiatusSurvivor
Summary: Sherlock is on Moriarty's trail again, alongside John Watson. This time, he admits he needs help. And he calls upon another Sherlock Holmes. An ex-drug addict who previously occupied 221B Baker Street, he now lives in New York City and consults for the NYPD. And this Sherlock also happens to have a Watson.
1. Chapter 1

_**The Brownstone, New York City**_

"Watson. Watson. Watson. Joan!"  
I rolled over, rubbing my eyes. It was probably just Sherlock. Sherlock! I bolted upright, to find him standing by my bed, holding a postcard. He really had no consideration for other people's privacy, did he? It was perfectly normal for him to be barging into a woman's bedroom.  
"Get dressed and pack your bags, Watson. We're going to London."  
London?  
"Sherlock, it's," I turned to look at the clock on my bedside table,"five thirty. It's Sunday morning. Didn't we visit your old house a few months ago anyway, and Mycroft blew up all your stuff? I didn't think you were so...sentimental."  
"It is not sentimentality that is taking us to Baker Street." He twirled the postcard in his fingers. On one side, it showed the London Eye and the city below; a pretty standard postcard. On the other side...

_Sherlock Holmes, I am aware that this mail will be intercepted and possible destroyed, but I require your help, regarding a common enemy we have. Come to Baker Street when convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway. -SH_

There he went, reading it out in that intellectual voice of his.  
"I'll be downstairs in ten minutes."  
"Five."  
"Eight."  
"Seven."  
"Fine." There was no arguing with Sherlock Holmes.

**_221B Baker Street, London_**

"Mrs Hudson, we're having guests over at ten o'clock. Some tea would be nice!"

"Not your housekeeper!" Came the reply.

Of course, had dear Mrs Hudson known who I'd invited over, she may have voiced a different response. There were several things on my mind at this moment in time; firstly, Mrs Hudson had clearly been talking on the phone late last night, as her voi-

"Sherlock!"

Ah, John. Here he was, as he always was. Mary or not, he was always faithful.

"John, hail a cab to the airport. I'll be down shortly. We're picking up some _friends._"

I could feel the chuckle escape my throat as I threw him off with my word choice. Even Anderson could read John's face. Confused, yes, but also hurt. Ah, he felt as though I betrayed him. I scoffed in my mind. Would I really have other friends? The very idea...

"Sherlock, who are we picking up?"

Persistent, wasn't he? I was scanning the landscape outside the window, watching everything scroll by. I had to admit, this was rather fun. Oh well, time to let him off the hook. At least partially, anyway. It was too much effort to explain the things that went on in my mind.

"Someone who can help."


	2. Chapter 2

**_Boeing 787-8_**

Sherlock was very quiet during the plane trip. I mean, he had never been the

friendly type, but he spent most, if not all of the time staring out the window,

muttering to himself, or criticising the entertainment available on the aeroplane.

At some point during the nearly-eight-hour-long flight, I remember drifting off the

sleep, halfway through some sci-fi movie...

"Watson. Joan. Joan! We've arrived."

I get the feeling he enjoys yelling at me until I wake up.

**_London Heathrow Airport_**

"Sherlock, I just don't see how a couple of NYPD consultants are going to help with-"

"John, just keep quiet while I engage in the mundane responsibility of 'introducing

one another'."

There he was, coat collar turned up, dark blue scarf, making his way to an odd

looking tall man and an average looking Chinese woman.

Well, I say odd and average, but I'm not sure I'm the right person to define what

each of those words mean, considering my own friendship circles.

The man spoke first, "Ah, Sherlock Holmes, consultant for the NYPD. This is my

working partner, Joan Watson."

"Nice to meet you." This was the woman, who sounded very American.

Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson? What?

"Sherlock, what's going o-"

"Funny, I didn't expect you to be a drug addict."

"Says the sociopath. And, I'll think you'll find I've been sober fo-"

"High-functioning sociopath, if you don't mind, who happens to have your address and

phone number."

"Sorry, I-I don't understa-" This was me, trying to get a word in edgeways.

"Anyone can flick through Scotland Yard records."

"Can we have this discussion later?" Joan made herself heard. What seemed to be two

Sherlocks made their way outside to hail a cab while I went to help Joan with her

was my chance to finally figure out what was going on.

"Uh, Joan. Hello. John Watson," Then came the polite handshake, "Nice to meet you.

Can I help you with any of that?"

"Um, sure." She gestured to 'Sherlock's' suitcase, which he had left behind, rolling

her eyes. It seemed like they shared more than a name.

I took the handle and started wheeling it outside.

"Err, sorry, but you wouldn't happen to know what's going on, would you?"


	3. Chapter 3

221B Baker Street, London

An ex-drug addict working with a woman who used to be his sober companion. Accent and choice of words are clearly English, though I knew that from the fact that he worked at Scotland Yard. The manner of which he lives suggests his father's payed for, hmm, rehabilitation and residence, anything he wants; but the two simply don't get along. He's had rather nasty history with his...brother, who recently slept with...oh..I see.

Now, Joan. Chinese heritage, but grew up in the United States. A steady hand and somewhat stubborn confidence says surgeon, but she doesn't title herself as a Doctor, so, no longer in practice. Perhaps she never liked it; forced to study medicine by her parents, or there was some sort of accident, the latter seems more likely, otherwise she wouldn't be working with the police. Obviously, then became a sober companion and judging by the very mutual air between them, the way she addressed him; she was hired by the man's father, no doubt.

John was right indeed. The police don't consult amateurs.


	4. Chapter 4

**221B Baker Street**

"Now," John snapped, slumping into his armchair, "Why is everyone here?"

"I'm here," I gestured to myself, "because someone crashed into my room early Sunday morning and told me to." I then looked to the two Sherlocks, standing by the fireplace, no doubt observing each other. The Sherlock I knew turned to the two of us.

"This is a matter of global importance, Joan, I thought you would be more considerate."

"Global importance?" The other Sherlock scoffed, "You sound like my brother. By the way, how's yours? Not sleeping with Joan still, is he?"

What? How could he- never mind, but..that was private!

I stood abruptly, feeling the colour rise to my checks. "What have you been telling him? Mycroft and I-"

"Mycroft! For god's sake; I already considered the idea that you were an imposter!" Clearly the other Sherlock also had a brother, and his name was also Mycroft. This was becoming stranger by the second.

"An imposter who can observe? Who isn't stupid?" My Sherlock raised an eyebrow in questioning. "I wouldn't be a very good imposter, though, would I? I look nothing like you, my companion, Joan, certainly is nothing like your John, and my first name is in fact Sherlock, Billy."

Billy? Clearly that meant something to the other Sherlock. He froze, regarding Sherlock and I with very obvious disdain. What had we done? The nickname Billy must have got on his nerves, sure, but there was something else, in his eyes. A certain sadness that seemed to match the Sherlock that I knew.

Sherlock really didn't know when to just shut up, did he? There he was, continuing to drop bombs on this clashing meet. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Strange that you should choose to go by Sherlock, don't you think? If anything, you would be the imposter."

"Stop- please, sorry.." John got up, making his way over to his Sherlock. "Maybe they could head over to Scotland Yard, read through anything on Moriarty, or something?"

The curly haired consulting detective nodded quickly, snapping out of his trance. "Yes, of course. Go and phone Lestrade, tell him we're coming.

"Lestrade!" We reacted immediately, Sherlock and I. We had a lot to say about that spotlight craving traitor.

Funnily enough, the look on John and the other Sherlocks' face said that we had gotten something very wrong.


End file.
